2 Weeks, 1 Day, 7 Hours, and 39 Minutes
by HermioneGrangerTwin
Summary: Time is always an interesting concept in the aftermath of war.


Two Weeks, One Day, Seven Hours, and Thirty-Nine Minutes

Challenge Number and Letter: 3B  
Word Count: 1165  
http:// community. livejournal. com/themomms/

A/N: Did you know? In 1165, Pope Alexander III, the pope known for laying the foundation stone at Notre Dame, re-entered Rome after exile. Trufax.

A/N 2: Inspired by RacconEyesBlueSkies' story, "The Third Bar". The Ron guilt idea was completely filched from that story, and I apologize, but the plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone. Also, sorry for the use of actual numbers in the title. It wouldn't fit without being grammatically incorrect.

It had been two weeks and one day. According to her calculations, based on time marks during the battle, it had been two weeks, one day, seven hours, and thirty-nine minutes. It had been far too long since she'd kissed Ronald Weasley.

She had been in the Burrow for two weeks.

It had been ten days since Fred's funeral.

Harry had left for Godric's Hollow eight days ago.

Three days ago was the last time she heard George crying.

One for Mrs. Weasley's sobs.

Hermione hadn't heard Ron speak in twelve days.

She always knew Ron was upset when he was silent. Now, he was always silent, always in the shadows, always in the background, never allowing others by his side. She would have given anything to be there, holding his hand, telling him that it was never going to be right, but the pain would fade. It seemed that he allowed himself to fade out rather than face his own pain.

Ten minutes ago, Ron went upstairs. He didn't announce himself, but she knew him well enough to know he was going to his bedroom.

Five minutes ago, Hermione Granger decided that she was going to break his silence.

Thirty seconds ago, she knocked, knowing she would not get a response, and opened his door.

She looked around at the piles of his belongings lying all over his floor, scattered seemingly unordered. His Cannon's posters were missing, leaving the bright orange walls, which now had long scars and dents where Ron had clearly had a rage with something. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. His shoulders were shaking with quiet sobs she heard coming from his hunched frame.

"Oh, Ron…" she sighed, tears streaming from her eyes. She went to his bedside to stand in front of him. He looked up and she wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, pressing his face into her stomach as she stroked his hair. He hugged her hips and sobbed as she stood there, crying silently.

"I—I—" Ron began, his voice creaking from disuse. "It's my fault. I could've stopped it."

Hermione released his head and slipped to her knees so that he would see her when he looked down, as he was prone to do. "It is _not_ your fault. We couldn't have stopped it. You know we couldn't've. Stop this." She began to sob. "I can't stand all this silence. I can't handle _your_ silence. Stop fading into the background." Self-deprecation crept into his expression. "It's not as if I've done anything else my entire life. I've always been in the background. The plain brother. The one who doesn't do anything spectacular, anything worthy of—"

"_Stop_!" she shrieked. "Stop! I'm tired of hearing you putting everything you do and are down. I love you, damn it, and I'm tired of hearing what I love being derided. You understand?"

Ron looked at her in disbelief. "You love me?"

She placed a hand on his face, stroking his cheekbones with her thumbs. "Yes. I love you. So stop Ron. You're wonderful. I know it and everyone else would do good to see it, you included. Alright?"

His tears started again. "No, Hermione. I—you—you could have so much better than me. I'm nothing. You're…Hermione."

"Don't you think I feel the same way about you? If I lost you, _when_ I lost you, I didn't know how to cope. I did just this same thing you're doing. I was silent, only speaking when spoken to. And I hate that you're doing this, because, well, you don't need _this_. You need to be yourself. It won't ever be right, but the pain will go away. I promise."

His tears began again, and she moved to sit on the bed next to him. He lay down on the bed and slid to leave a space open for Hermione to slip into. She did so, his arm slipping around her shoulders and kissing her forehead. She moved her fingers to entwine her fingers with his on her arm. He skimmed his thumb along her arm, creating chills in her. She kissed his jaw and settled her face into the crook of her neck. Ron slipped his free hand beneath her cheek and lifted her face to look into his eyes. "I miss you," he whispered, his voice a mess. "I miss being next to you."

She looked at him indignantly. "I would have, if you would have let me! I tried, remember? I sat next to you and you moved. You wouldn't let _anyone_ sit next to you, Ron."

He looked at her in confusion. "I don't remember that."

"It was the afternoon after Fred's funeral. I sat down next to you and placed a hand on your knee and you got up and sat in that chair near the stairs, away from everyone else. I looked at you, but you looked down at that same spot on the floor."

"I can't think as well about other things when I'm next to you. I was trying to remember Fred dying. I was thinking about how I could have stopped it."

"And?"

"I should have gone after the bastards that broke down that wall."

"Ron. You would've died."

He looked at her with annoyance. "Maybe not."

She dug her face into his neck. "I needed you. I was not about to let you put yourself in more danger."

He stroked her shoulder with his thumb and chuckled. "I'm glad for you. You keep me from being stupid."

"I don't think anyone can stop that," she joked, leaning into his chest.

Mock anger came into his face, but his eyes showed happiness. There was silence for a few moments and then they both burst out laughing. "I don't know what I'd do without you to keep me on the ground."

"Don't worry. I'm sure Ginny would keep you straight."

And just like this, they kept each other laughing through the night. Her eyes closed as dawn approached and she yawned as Ron looked at her. "We need sleep," he said softly.

"Mhm," she murmured, burrowing into his chest. He kissed the top of her head.

"Good night, Hermione."

She pulled out of his chest and pushed her face towards his. In the split second before her lips touched his, she stopped, wondering if this was what he wanted. Could he still just want to be friends? It was possible. Perhaps she didn't have him as she thought.

And as the insecurities rushed through, Ron leaned in the last half inch, gently pressing his lips against hers and brushing back and forth. She could not keep track of how long he had continued this torture, only that she never wanted him to stop. She had lost all track of time when she had entered the room. And she had no intentions of finding it again.

She had always heard that the second kiss was better, more important. She hadn't understood how until that moment. There was no urgency, no fear. It was the two of them, the world no longer in turmoil, disappearing into the dark, their bodies joined, hanging in the balance.

"Good morning, Ron."


End file.
